


Celebrate Good Times, Come On!

by Emachinescat



Category: Psych
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:35:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1231813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emachinescat/pseuds/Emachinescat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After finishing a big case, Shawn tries to convince Gus to celebrate with him instead of staying at the office and paying bills. Hilarity and banter ensue. A light hearted vignette of the everyday lives of our favorite detectives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celebrate Good Times, Come On!

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Psych. :(
> 
> Enjoy! :D

"C'mon, Gus, stop being such a downer! Stop worrying about bills and celebrate with me by eating smoothies and partaking in frivolous antics that we will most likely regret come morning time. We solved our case, found the murderer, and Lassie even smiled–"

"That wasn't a smile, Shawn," Gus cut in irritably. "That was a grimace of pain. You screamed right in his ear."

"Well, that guard dog was terrifying. If I hadn't hidden behind Lassie, I'd be dog chow by now."

Gus rolled his eyes and went back to shuffling through papers at his desk. "It was a Pomeranian."

Shawn's eyes narrowed. "Did you see that little monster? It was all bite and all bark, Gus. It was like a mini-lion, with all that fur and wrath. I was genuinely scared for my life. And for the record, _you_  screamed too, Mr. Fearless."

Gus sniffed. "I don't remember that."

"Gus," Shawn said in a supremely patronizing tone, "don't be a flightless wombat."

Gus gave his partner an exasperated glance. "Wombats don't fly, Shawn," he informed his best friend.

"So?" Shawn seriously looked like he had no idea what the problem with his statement was.

" _So_ ," said Gus, "it's redundant to say 'flightless wombat' if wombats never fly in the first place."

"Gus, you are stifling my creativity here," Shawn whined. "How am I supposed to keep the atmosphere light and cheery, and get your mind off stupid, boring things like bills, when you continue to insist on technicalities?"

"There's nothing technical about it, Shawn," Gus asserted firmly. "Wombats  _don't_  fly."

Shawn was silent for a moment, his eyes slightly unfocused as if he were in deep thought. Just when Gus thought that he might have won this round and was about to turn back to the bills –

"They do if they've hijacked an airplane."

"Shawn," Gus scolded, but couldn't keep the slight grin off of his face. "Sounds like the plot of a movie with what's-his-face in it. The guy at the museum?"

"Kevin James?" Shawn ventured, but Gus shook his head.

"No, he was in a zoo movie. Umm… Ben Stiller!"

"Oh, yeah, it's definitely a Stiller flick. Should I call Universal Studios with our Grammy-award winning movie pitch?"

"The Grammys are for music, Shawn. You're thinking of the Oscars."

Shawn pursed his lips stubbornly. "I've heard it both ways."

"You have not."

"Regardless," Shawn interceded, "we are movie-plotting geniuses."

Gus grinned. "You know that's right." Shawn held out his fist for a fist bump, and Gus bumped it. He paused. "We'll just celebrate for a little while, right? No all-nighters? No prank calls to Lassie? We'll get some smoothies, and then we'll come back, and I'll do the bills, right?"

Shawn nodded earnestly, his eyes shining with glee when he realized that Gus was caving in to his pleas. It was the movie idea that had done him in. Shawn knew that it would. "Absolutely, buddy. No side-trips or additional hijinks this time. I promise. Now come on, the smoothie place closes in like fifteen minutes."

* * *

Shawn and Gus stumbled into the Psych office at two-thirty in the morning. Gus's shirt collar was ripped and there was whipped cream in his ears. Shawn was singing a song by Adele, and he was missing his left shoe. "I'm going to kill you, Shawn," Gus grunted as he flopped down into a chair. "That was  _not_  what I signed up for."

"Yeah, but the smoothie was delicious, wasn't it?"

"I wouldn't know," Gus snapped, closing his eyes. "You drank mine while I went to the men's room, and the place had already closed when I went to get another one."

"Stalking Lassie on his way home from working overtime at the station was fun, wasn't it, though? Didn't you see how much he liked the challenge of eluding us?"

"He shot at us – three times, and I'm not convinced that he didn't know it was us that last time. You lost your shoe in a sewer grate, and I nearly broke my neck when I tripped over that crack in the sidewalk. Ruined my good shirt. And  _then_  we had to go to that all night sundae bar, where your big mouth caused that big guy in the leather jacket to attack me with whipped cream!"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "I was there, Gus, I don't need you to reiterate everything that happened. And for the record, you  _did_  call out to Lassiter, telling him he was a big cheese-head."

"No, Shawn, that was  _you_!"

"Details." Shawn waved his hand and plopped into a chair next to Gus, looking entirely at peace.

"Let's just hope I can get those bills paid before we lose power again," Gus grumbled. "I'm going to _kill_  you if your little stunt caused me to fall behind on payments  _again_."

There was no answer other than a soft snore from the chair beside him. Smiling wryly to himself, Gus settled into his own chair, opting to stay the night at the office since he was already so tired. Maybe it hadn't been a  _horrible_  night, all things considered.

The electricity flickered off, leaving Gus and Shawn in total darkness and silence.

* * *

A lone stray dog trotting by the Psych office jumped, yelped, and scurried away as a loud, angry yell came from inside the darkened building.

" _SHAWN!_ "


End file.
